I Almost Took The Earlier Flight

I met my wife because I wanted to sleep an extra two hours.

That's the part I've never told her.

I was twenty-nine and flying home from my best friend's wedding in Nashville. My original flight was supposed to leave Sunday afternoon, but after three hours of delays, the airline finally canceled it.

Everyone at the gate immediately became an expert in aviation law.

People were yelling. One guy demanded a hotel suite. A woman behind me kept saying she was "never flying this airline again" while standing in line to rebook with the same airline.

I just wanted to go home. The agent gave me two options for Monday morning. One left at 6:10. The other left at 8:25.

"8:25."

I didn't even think about it.

The next morning, I boarded half-awake with terrible airport coffee and found my seat.

14B.

Someone was already sitting by the window. I put my bag overhead, sat down, and immediately noticed her looking at me.

Not casually. She was staring.

I checked my shirt because I'd spilled coffee on myself earlier.

Finally, she said, "You have absolutely no idea who I am, do you?"

That's a dangerous question from a woman you don't recognize. I looked at her for several uncomfortable seconds. Then she smiled.

"Rachel Bennett."

Nothing.

"Lincoln Elementary?"

Still nothing. She looked offended.

"Fifth grade? Mrs. Patterson?"

And suddenly I knew.

"Rachel?"

She laughed.

"There you go."

Rachel had been one of my best friends when we were kids. We traded lunches almost every day because she hated the turkey sandwiches her mother packed, and I hated the tuna sandwiches mine packed. We were also partners in the fifth-grade talent show.

Our act was magic. Neither of us knew magic.

The highlight involved me accidentally knocking over a folding table while Rachel tried to pull a stuffed rabbit from a cardboard box. We finished last.

I hadn't seen her since we were eleven, when her family moved to Arizona.

For the next three hours, we barely stopped talking. She remembered things I'd completely forgotten. The name of my childhood dog. The scar on my chin from falling off my bike. The time I got sent to the principal because she dared me to pull the fire alarm.

"For the record," I told her, "you were a terrible influence."

"You pulled it."

"You provided the idea."

"That's called leadership."

By the time we landed, my face hurt from laughing. At baggage claim, there was an awkward moment where we both knew we were about to walk in different directions.

"So," I said, "do you want to exchange numbers?"

She smiled.

"I was wondering how long that was going to take."

We started texting that afternoon. A week later, we got dinner. Dinner turned into another date. Then another.

About eight months later, Rachel moved into my apartment.

Three years after that, we got married.

Last summer, almost seven years after that flight, we took our four-year-old daughter to visit my parents.

Rachel had the window seat. I was in the middle.

Our daughter was beside me, asking approximately four hundred questions before we'd even taken off.

At some point, she asked how her mom and I met.

"On an airplane," I said.

Rachel leaned around me.

"Because Daddy's flight got canceled."

I looked at her.

"Technically."

"What do you mean technically?"

"Nothing."

She narrowed her eyes.

I changed the subject.

Here's what Rachel still doesn't know.

When the airline employee offered me those two replacement flights, the 6:10 flight had plenty of seats.

The 8:25 had exactly one.

I chose it because the idea of waking up at four in the morning sounded miserable.

That's it. No instinct. No sign from the universe. I wanted two extra hours of sleep. If I'd chosen differently, someone else would've sat in 14B.

Rachel and I might have gone the rest of our lives without seeing each other again.

Sometimes I think about how many moments like that happen without us noticing.

A different checkout line.

A missed train.

A restaurant you almost didn't go to.

A flight you picked because you were tired.

I've made bigger decisions since then.

I've chosen jobs.

Bought a house.

Gotten married.

Decided I was ready to become a father.

But the best decision I ever made took about five seconds.

The agent asked:

"6:10 or 8:25?"

I chose the later flight.

And somehow, I ended up exactly where I was supposed to be.